


A Whole Big Sucking Thing

by sarken



Category: Real News RPF
Genre: Gen, Pizza Day, Titles Ganked from Buffy, Trust and Violations Thereof, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel doesn't mind that Keith is a vampire -- she minds that he tried to bite her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whole Big Sucking Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Back in September, Jess Idres drew [vampire!Keith](http://jesidres.dreamwidth.org/4347.html) and blamed it partially on me. Turnabout being fair play, I blame this story on Jess's art. Happy birthday, Jess!
> 
> Thanks to Aliya for the beta. Title from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

The TRMS bullpen smells like pizza, and the garlic makes Keith's nose run and eyes itch as he walks toward Rachel's office. He knocks on her door and checks his watch, determining that he has ten minutes until the sun changes position and he has to leave or beg her to draw the blinds.

Two weeks ago, Rachel would have done it without a word from him. Two weeks ago, the inexplicable TRMS Pizza Ban of '09 was still in effect, and, two weeks ago, Rachel hadn't worn jewelry in years. But Monday morning, Keith saw the glint of gold around her neck, a delicate chain peeking out from beneath the collar of her T-shirt. He didn't need to see the pendant to know it was a cross, and now, as Rachel opens her office door, he doesn't need to see the chain to know the necklace is still there. He can feel it in the thickness of the air between them.

Sighing, Rachel leans against the doorjamb and crosses her arms. "What do you want, Keith?" She sounds slightly more tired than annoyed.

"Not to have this conversation in the hall." He sees the way she is trying too hard to avoid looking at his mouth, and he smiles broadly at her, drawing her eyes to his fangs. It doesn't intimidate her, but it makes her uncomfortable with herself, and it makes her feel guilty for looking at him differently. He is not above using that to his advantage -- he just wishes he didn't have to.

She realizes she is staring, and she glances away. "What conversation are we having?"

"One that fixes things."

"I don't know if there is one of those." Rachel turns back into her office but doesn't close the door, and Keith accepts that as part invitation and part victory. He follows her and shuts the door before he takes a seat on the couch, as far from the sun's intrusive rays as possible. Rachel sits behind her desk and stares straight through him until Keith realizes he'll have to be the first to speak.

"Look, I know saying I was hungry sounds like a damn poor excuse for what I did," he says, "but there isn't another word, a better word, to explain it. It just...isn't like normal hunger. I can't eat a bowl of ice cream and make it go away."

He watches the blank expression on Rachel's face. Her non-reaction makes the office seem to double in size, makes Keith feel even further away from her, and he moves off the sofa and onto the visitor's chair.

"Maybe it's more like suffocating," he says, scooting the chair away from the sunlight. "It has an urgency that's not there with ordinary human hunger."

She has a mechanical pencil poised over a notepad, and she is looking down at the yellow paper when she asks, "Would you die?"

"Effectively. Eventually."

Rachel looks up, and Keith thinks he might see sympathy and worry in her eyes, but her tone is angry. "That doesn't make me an all-you-can-eat buffet." She touches the side of her neck where, two weeks ago, his teeth pressed against her skin. "You have to ask."

"You were asleep." The sun is making his arm sting, and he slides his chair further away from the window to buy a few more minutes of shade.

"And I wasn't going to wake up the second you bit me?" Rachel stands up, shoving her desk chair hard enough to make it roll several feet as she moves toward the window. She stares outside for a moment before reaching for the cord on the blinds, yanking it to the side and letting the blinds drop uncontrolled and crash against the windowsill. "You could have asked."

Her back is to him, so Keith gets up and rounds the desk, pushing her chair aside to get closer to her. "What would you have said?"

His proximity makes her go tense, stand a little straighter, but she doesn't turn around. "Does it hurt?"

He thinks for a moment. "Probably. I don't know. I never asked."

Rachel drags her finger down the blinds, rattling the slats. "Who else have you bitten?"

"It was a long time ago, Rachel."

"I don't know what that means." She turns around, a frown forming above one eyebrow.

"I couldn't control it then." He watches her swallow, watches the way her lips press into a thin line as she starts to understand. He is eighty years old, he told her two weeks ago. There are thirty years that scare him too much to talk about, and he hopes this small admission helps Rachel understand those thirty years and that bad Monday morning.

"Okay," she says, the word catching in her throat as she looks away. The tip of her tongue moves over her lips. "I would have said yes. And then I would have asked if it hurts. But you can't just -- you have to ask, Keith. 'Rach, I'm a vampire and your place is like a dark cave, devoid of all natural light. Can I live with you until the symptoms stop?' If I said yes to that, a poke in the neck isn't going to freak me out. But you have to tell me. This has to be just like everything else."

Inching closer, Keith slides a finger beneath her chin. "Rach," he says gravely, and when she meets his eyes, he grins. "I vant to suck your blood."

The Transylvanian accent is enough to make Rachel laugh, tilting her head into Keith's touch. His palm curves around her jaw line, his thumb near her ear, and he watches the mirth slowly drain from her eyes.

"Is this for real?" she asks, her hand unconsciously slipping toward her throat, hovering over her pulse. Her index finger curls around the chain of her crucifix.

Keith nods. "It is."

Rachel exhales slowly through her nose. "All right," she says, reaching for the clasp on her necklace. She takes it off quickly, easily, and drops it onto her desk. Her palm slips across the flat surface, and Keith can almost hear the way her nervous, sweaty skin sticks to the wood.

Rachel tries not to be obvious as she wipes her hand on her jeans. "So," she says, looking away. "Will this... Am I going to end up like you?"

Shaking his head, Keith slides his fingers into her hair and guides her forward, closer to him. "You shouldn't even get lightheaded." His fingertips play against her scalp, and he feels her body begin to relax. He smiles tightly. "Okay?" he asks.

Rachel laughs. "Yeah, sure," she says, trying to downplay her anxiety. She fails miserably, and Keith briefly touches his forehead to hers as he reaches for her hand.

He spins her around with a slow, careful turn, tucking her against his chest. "If you need me to stop..." he says, settling his arm across her midsection.

She nods and rests her arm on top of his, lacing their fingers together. "I'll let you know."

Closing his eyes, Keith takes a slow breath. He almost wishes he needed this more, wishes he were so desperate he couldn't think. His stomach clenches tight as his nose brushes against Rachel's neck, making contact with her warm, soft skin. She smells just like she did that Monday morning, and his eyes close as he breathes her in.

Rachel tenses when he touches his mouth to her neck, scraping his teeth across her skin. He's scaring her, getting her heart rate up, making her blood pump faster through her veins.

He hates himself for it.

When he checks her pulse with his tongue, each throb of her carotid artery pushes guilt further from his mind. His mouth settles on some innocuous location far from her pulsing artery, and he pushes his fangs through her skin.

Rachel inhales sharply, her fingernails cutting into the back of Keith's hand, but he isn't done. He pushes his fangs further in, not stopping until his front teeth press firmly against her skin. His own heart is racing, and he takes a long, awkward breath before he pulls out and covers the bite mark with his tongue. He thinks about table manners and doesn't moan when he tastes the first warm drops of blood.

As Keith sucks at her skin, trying to draw the blood out faster, he feels her shift in his arms, first her shoulders, then her hips. He tightens his hold on her, his fingers pressing against her ribs.

"Relax," he says, leaning against the edge of her desk. He nips at her neck, but it's a playful bite, no fangs. "The worst part's over."

There are two little lines of blood running down her skin, merging as they curve toward her throat, and Keith licks them up with a single swipe of his tongue before settling his mouth over the puncture marks on her neck. He hears her breathing change as he starts suckling at the wound.

"I swear, Keith," she says, and he can feel her words right through her skin, "if you give me a hickey..."

Keith chuckles. "At least it's turtleneck weather," he says, sucking hard at Rachel's neck until she elbows him in the side.

"Be nice to your dinner." Rachel sighs and leans heavily against Keith's chest, tilting her head to allow Keith better access to her neck. "So, how do you know it's enough?" she asks.

It's not something Keith likes to think about, but he answers truthfully. "It's not going to be enough." He squeezes her hip. "I could kill you doing this, Rachel. I hope you realize that."

"I know." He can feel and hear the way she swallows. "But you won't. I know that, too. I think...I think you could have done it the day you tried to bite me, but not today."

It's too close to the truth, and the thought turns his stomach and makes him angry. "I'm going to stop now," he says, and he pulls his mouth away, but he doesn't let her go. He looks down at her neck, at the blood and saliva on her skin, and he exhales carefully before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You have tissues? Your neck's a mess."

Rachel nods. "Behind you, on the desk."

He grabs two tissues from the box, and he is a little too rough as he starts wiping at Rachel's neck with the first tissue, scrubbing away any traces of blood. It's rumpled and stained a pinkish brown when he tosses it into the trash, and he uses his hand to brush the specks of white lint off her neck before pressing the second tissue into her hand. "You're still bleeding," he says, stepping away from her. He knows he sounds mad or disgusted, and he isn't sure which is worse.

"Well, duh," Rachel says, holding the tissue against her neck. She smiles. "At least I still have some left, right?"

Keith runs his tongue along his teeth, making sure they're clean of blood. "I have a show to write," he says, and he smiles then, knowing he'll see it in Rachel's face if his mouth is covered in blood. When all she does is frown and look away, he turns toward the door. "You should go have some pizza."


End file.
